The Rest of the Story

Authors: Mediancat & Robyn the Snowshoe Hare

E-mail: rcnease@bellatlantic.net & snowshoe16@hotmail.com

Parts: 1 - 5

Disclaimer: All rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, and FOX.

Summary: What if Angel *did* leave with the Judge's arm in 'Surprise'...?

Authors' Notes: Apologies to Paul Harvey.

Down at the docks, near a merchant vessel, Angel and Buffy stood sadly.

Angel showed Buffy a ring. Buffy gasped and told him, "It's beautiful."

"My people," Angel explained, "before I was changed -- they exchanged this as a sign of devotion. It's a claddagh ring. The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty . . . and the heart . . . Well, you know. Wear it with the heart pointing towards you. It means you belong to somebody. Like this." The air was positively fraught with emotion. Of love about to be lost.

Angel then displayed his own ring. Buffy reached over, touched his hand gently, and then kissed the ring.

"Put it on," Angel told her. On her reluctance, she took the ring fromher hand and slipped it softly onto her finger.

Beginning to cry, Buffy choked out, "I don't want to do this."

Angel said grimly, "Me either."

"So don't go," came Buffy's answer.

Neither said anything after that, and then they kissed. Buffy embraced Angel for what seemed like forever. It had to be forever. They wouldn't see each other for months.

Finally, they pulled apart. "Buffy, I . . ." he trailed off.

"What? What?" the Slayer asked.

"I need to be going." Then he pulled away, picked up the box containing the Judge's arm, and got ready to get on the ship.

"Don't leave me," she choked out.

"I have no choice," he answered, and vanished slowly back into the darkness.

Buffy stared at the spot as though by sheer desire she could will him back. But it didn't work.

It didn't work.

Almost overcome with grief, Buffy staggered her way up the docks and back onto the nearby street. She almost didn't register the three nearby vampires.

Almost.

She recognized the first one - the same one who'd burglarized the tomb back in October. He swore and said, "DAMN that Drusilla!" The other two jumped Buffy immediately. They were strong.

Buffy, at this point, didn't know from strong. Channeling her pain, she dodged the first one and threw him onto the docks below, while thrusting a stake through the second one's heart. Almost negligently, she staked the first one just climbing up from behind her and advanced on Dalton.

"What did you mean, damn Drusilla?"

"W-well," the vampire nerd said nervously, "Spike was ready to send us out. After you. After the arm. But Drusilla insisted we all stop to have tea first. If we'd left ten minutes earlier -"

"You would have been dead ten minutes sooner," Buffy said nonchalantly. "Where is he?" No answer. Buffy pulled out a vial of holy water. "Where is he?"

Eventually, he told.

* * * * *

Three months later, a lone, weary figure staggered down the road entering Sunnydale from a northerly direction. He limped, he crawled, and finally, bone-tired and exhausted, he crawled onto Buffy's front porch.

She heard the knock on the door. "Angel," she said, hugging him.

"The arm . . . is gone. We don't need to worry about the Judge anymore."

"No, we don't. Come on in. We've got a lot to talk about -- hey, what's that matchbook?"

"Oh, that? Nothing . . . ."

Part 2

"Angel," Buffy said, staring deeply into the chocolate-brown eyes of her beloved, "we haven't seen each other in three months. I've missed you desperately, and I want to hear how you spent every moment that I couldn't be with you. So what's with the matchbook?"

"No, really, Buffy," Angel said, the expression on his face closely mirroring that of a cornered housecat who really doesn't want to let on that he has the body of the family hamster in his mouth, "I don't want to talk about the matchbook." His eyes darting around desperately, he begged soulfully, "I've missed you so much . . . can't I just hold you?"

It was pitiful. It was underhanded. And damn it, it worked. Buffy's face immediately softened as she heard his gentle plea, the torment of having doubted him written across her sweet countenance, clearly striking so deeply into her tender heart that she didn't notice when he slid the matchbook into his pocket.

*Score!* Angel smirked mentally, as he enfolded the tiny Slayer into his arms, protecting his soulmate from all harm --

Distracted by his self-congratulations, Angel didn't notice when Buffy slipped her hand into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the matchbook. He also didn't notice when she held it up behind his back so that she could read the writing. He *did* notice, however, when her pliant body went suddenly rigid and her left hand whipped out to slap him soundly across the face.

Reeling at the horror of being bitch-slapped by his girlfriend, Angel's balance was also reeling, and he ended up with his butt on the 'Welcome' mat that Joyce kept insisting on putting out. Staring up at Buffy, Angel could only watch as she tapped into her inner Tina Turner.

"Why," Buffy hissed, rage outlining every line of her body (Angel had to remind himself not to focus to closely on certain lines of her body, because he was getting the impression that the ensuing conversation might require his attention), "are you carrying around a matchbook from Willy's bar?"

"I . . . I . . . " Angel's mind worked desperately, the result being that the gerbil nearly fell off of the wheel, but in a flash of brilliance he came up with an explanation.

"I stopped for a drink on the way here," he said, hanging his head in a calculated movement to make the dark strands of his hair fall down over his forehead in a boyish gesture. Or, rather, it would've, had he not gone a little overboard on the gel this morning. Damn. He settled for giving her the puppy-dog-eyes. Full blast.

The three month separation had taken its toll, because instead of immediately throwing her arms around him and begging for forgiveness, Buffy merely let the killing rage ebb from her eyes. It was a start, though.

"So," she said, in the chillingly reasonable tone that men have feared throughout the centuries, "having been traveling through abandoned wastelands for three months to find a secure hiding place for the arm, after having promised to return to me as soon as you can, having pledged your love for me, you come back to Sunnydale, and *go for a drink*."

Angel nodded slowly. She was pretty angry now, but once he admitted that he was an idiot, she would forgive him. Even now, he could see her expression gentling in the face of his guilt and shame.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, reaching out and helping him up, "I overreacted. Come in, we need to talk."

Maintaining his martyred air, Angel followed her in, faking a limp as he went. Never hurt to play the injury card. To his glee, she immediately noticed and insisted on helping him into the comfiest chair and fussing over him until he was settled.

"I'll be right back," she cooed, "I just have to make a quick call."

Settling back into the chair, Angel relaxed as he listened to Buffy's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Long minutes passed, and then Buffy returned. Perching herself on the arm of the chair, she slid her arms around him and gently ran her fingers through his hair.

"So," she asked mildly, "where have you been for three months?"

"Oh, lots of places," Angel said, "Egypt, Pakistan, Canada . . . "

"That's really interesting," Buffy responded, "especially since I just got off the phone with Willy, and he says that you've been at his bar drinking for two months and three and a half weeks."

She said it in such a reasonable tone that it took a moment for the words to sink in. Then Angel gulped. He was screwed . . . and not in a good way . . .

"What I'd like to know," Buffy said perkily, "is just what you were doing for the three days that you *weren't* drinking. Because," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "clearly the rest of the time was *just* as busy as my life has been. I mean, all I had to do was kill Spike and Drusilla on my own, deal with werewolves, mutated swim teams, disturbing demons with German names, angry ghosts, and seeing Cordelia and Xander make out. *You* were bravely facing every whiskey bottle in sight. So," she finished, pining him with a dangerous glare, "what were you doing in those three days?"

Angel squirmed, looked for a route of escape, squirmed again, then finally said everything very quickly, hoping that maybe she wouldn't kill him if she heard it all at the same time.

"IgotontheboatbutIgotoffatthenextstopandwenttoLAwhereIputtheJudge'sarminasafetydepositboxthencamebackhere."

Buffy was clearly not going to let him get away with that, though. A second icy glare, and Angel sighed and explained again, slower.

"I got on the boat, but I got off at the next stop and went to LA, where I put the Judge's arm in a safety deposit box, then came back here."

There was a long pause, and it was a good thing that Angel didn't need to breathe, because the tension in the air would likely have choked him.

"So, *why* did you stay away for all those months, and then lie to mewhen you came back?" Buffy asked in that deadly calm tone.

Gulping, Angel sent a quick prayer to whoever might be listening to get him out of this moment...

A knock on the door came in answer. Angel was shocked once again (and a 244-year-old *really* shouldn't have to deal with this many shocks) when a young male voice yelled, "Buffy? We really have to hurry, our dinner reservations are in fifteen minutes!"

Staring at the tiny Slayer in utter amazement, Angel asked, "YOU HAVE A DATE???"

"Er...."

Part 3

"Er?" Angel said quietly. "I think I deserve a better explanation than 'er'."

"Oh," Buffy said, voice dripping scorn, "The boozehound thinks he deserves an explanation."

"Hey!" Angel protested. "After I risked my life . . ."

Buffy cleared her throat pointedly and held up the matchbook.

"Okay," Angel amended, "After I pretended to risk my life . . ."

"Yes?" Buffy said, tapping her feet.

"Well, " Angel exploded, "You didn't know I wasn't risking life and limb to get rid of that arm instead of sticking it in a bank in LA! How could you just forget about me like that?"

"Just forget about you?!" Buffy said. "Do you know how long it took me to get over you? The fear I had that I'd never see you again?"

The knock on the door got more insistent. "Buffy?" It said. "We'd better hurry -- we don't want to be late for our two and a half month anniversary!"

Angel shot Buffy a look. "About five minutes?" the vampire asked.

"Closer to ten."

"So while I was, for all YOU knew, struggling to make it inside a cave in Tibet before the sun went down--"

"But were actually getting drunk off your ass down at Willy's --"

"You just couldn't wait to find some other guy?"

"Well," Buffy said nonchalantly, "A girl has needs, and Ms. Calendar told me you'll never be able to satisfy them."

"That's not fair -- she and I only did -- I mean, what do you mean?" the look on Angel's face was one of wounded innocence.

Which Buffy wasn't buying for a second. "I was talking about the curseon you - it goes away if you experience a moment of pure happiness. Wait a minute, what do you mean, you and she only did???"

"Um," Angel said, striving mightily to change the subject, "You're being rude, keeping your friend out there on the porch - especially when there are still vampires roaming around. Why don't you invite him in?"

"So you can check him out?"

"Or kill him, if that's what it takes."

"Okay, Angel, chill. You are NOT killing him."

"The least you could have done is wait for me," came Angel's aggrieved answer. "I didn't find comfort in anyone else - I was faithful to you."

"No," Buffy said bitterly, "You just found your solace in a bottle of Jack Daniels."

"Johnny Walker, actually. Look. I admit I shouldn't have spent the last three months hiding out in a bar in downtown Sunnydale, but I was only doing it to impress you. Sometimes you're a hard woman to impress." Angel flashed Buffy his most charming smile, and again she seemed to weaken. Perhaps this could all be made to work out after all. Perhaps they could, would get back together, with the last three months of sins forgiven by each. Perhaps --

But perhaps not. After all, you haven't heard the Rest of the Story.

The knock on the door came again, even more loudly this time.

"And obviously other times not," Angel finished. "You don't want him eaten by my fellow vampires. Let him in. I promise not to kill him."

"Or maim?" Buffy demanded.

Angel sighed. "Or maim."

Buffy went for the door. "I'm only doing this because you insist onmeeting him. After all, it's not like we really have to worry about the supernatural in Sunnydale much anymore."

"Why not," Angel began, but his response to this shock died on his lips when the door opened and he saw . . .

Part 4

" . . . Tom the Frat Guy?"

Angel's jaw didn't just drop, it seemed to come almost completely off its hinges to dangle by a scrap of skin. He was a danger to low-flying birds and flies. Had anyone been looking for a good candidate in a large-mouthed bass look-alike contest, Angel would've been the man . . . er . . . *vamp* for the job.

Before his horrified gaze, Tom 'the Frat Guy' Warner swept into the house, holding a large bouquet of daisies in one hand as he swept Buffy into a hug with his free arm. Tom looked charming, Buffy looked thrilled, and Angel just looked sickened.

Angel hadn't been this shocked since the day he walked into the Master's cave and discovered the ancient vamp's penchant for cross-dressing. He stood in the living room and dithered long enough for Buffy to find a vase for the daisies while Tom stood next to him and attempted friendly-guy-smalltalk, which basically amounted to, "How 'bout them Broncos?"

Angel's power of articulate speech didn't return to him until just as Tom was helping Buffy on with her coat. Unfortunately, it returned in a rush, and instead of a polite inquiry as to Buffy's state of mind in her choice of companion, it came out in a rather belligerent tone.

"YOU'RE DATING THE GUY WHO DRUGGED YOUR DRINK AND TRIED TO SACRIFICE YOU TO A HUGE DEMON SNAKE IN A HORRENDOUS RITUAL IN THE BASEMENT OF HIS FRATERNITY HOUSE? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR *MIND*?????"

"Angel!" Buffy said disapprovingly, looking up at Tom to make sure that his feelings weren't hurt.

Clearing his throat delicately, Tom carefully folded and handed Buffy her coat, clearly sensing friction in this room. Turning, he crossed to where Angel stood - a trembling mass of ex-boyfriend wrath.

"We seem to have gotten off on slightly the wrong foot," Tom began carefully. "Now, I understand that in the past I did some very unconscionable things. However, confinement in the Sunnydale Minimum Security Prison taught me the error of my ways. I found new life and meaning in learning to swing dance, and with my new purpose in mind, I founded the first swing club in Sunnydale." The brilliant glow of the righteous and the pure had come to Tom's face, and Buffy came up to place a hand on his shoulder, an expression of pure love coming over her face as she looked at the visionary she loved. Angel backed up slowly. He'd always been more of a fox-trot man, himself.

"I met others who were like what I had been. Frustrated, lost, and delving into the dark arts. I brought them to the swing club, and to the sounds of The Big Bad Voodoo Daddies and Frankie Manning they found purpose and meaning once again. Then the vampires and the demons came, and we taught them to swing too."

Angel nearly choked. "The demons and vampires would've *EATEN* you!"

"So one who has not been to a swing club would think," Tom corrected gently. "After all, if they had eaten us, they would've been out hundreds of swing partners! All the demons and vampires in Sunnydale are swingers now. But by then, certain powers in the town had noticed the drop in dark magic and killings."

"That's how I met Tom again," Buffy said dreamily, "The gang and I went to the speakeasy where he was lindy-hopping one night, and the moment our eyes met, we just knew."

Tom gently slid his arms around the petite Slayer, and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was the sweet passion of those who are truly in love. Moving closer to each other, Tom's hands slid down her back just as Buffy's fingers tangled in his light brown hair-

-and then Angel ruined the mood by clearing his throat loadly. "Knew what?" he asked acidly.

The anniversary celebrants gazed into each others' eyes.

"I knew," Tom said, "that I had found my swing partner."

"Oh, Tom, that's so sweet.." Buffy whispered as she rose on tiptoe to bring her face up to his-

-which was when Angel noticed the wedding bands on both of their hands.

Part 5

"Oh, give me a BREAK. You're married?" Angel asked in disbelief.

"Yup," Buffy said, squeezing Tom's arm. "Isn't it great?"

"Great? What about us? I thought we -"

"At least he was able to walk me down the aisle IN A CHURCH without bursting into flames."

"In a church?" Tom asked. "That's right, you're a vampire, aren't you?"

"Yes," Angel said angrily, displaying his game face. "Want me to prove it?"

"Sure!" Tom said, clearly not getting that Angel was threatening to grind Tom's bones to make his bread. "Come on down to the swing club and show us what you're made of! That's where Buffy and I are headed off to after dinner."

Swing dancing?! SWING DANCING?!"

"Honey," Buffy said, turning to Tom, "Why don't you go wait in the car? Angel and I have a few things to . . . discuss." The tone in that last voice, Angel noted, indicated that the imminent discussion would likely involve punching, kicking, and the occasional heavy object being broken over the back of his skull.

"Sure!" Tom said cheerfully. Tom, it had to be noted, was as dense as a London fog. "Just remember to bring the keys with you when you come - you've got the only housekey."

"Will do, sweetie," Buffy said, kissing her husband briefly but passionately. Angel could feel his gorge rising, and remember, vampires swallow blood and dismember corpses, so it takes an awful lot to make one nauseated. Tom smiled and left.

"Now, then," Buffy said, turning towards Angel, voice deceptively sweet. "What precisely is wrong with swing dancing?"

"It's stupid!"

Buffy chuckled. "Can't do it, huh?"

"Not a move."

"Well, we'd teach you -"

"No thanks." Then pain entered his voice "Buffy, why did things have to turn out like this?"

"Because you took that arm, left town, and spent the next three months sitting at Willy's getting drunk off your ass."

"Oh, sure, blame it on me."

"Why - " the horn honked. Buffy looked up at Angel and said, "Look, I have to go. Don't trash the house and lock up when you leave."

Then the door closed and she was gone.

Things could not end like this.

Angel wouldn't let them.

* * * * *

Two weeks later, one of the swing clubs started to burn. A mysterious brooding stranger dressed in black rushed inside and yelled, "Fire! Everyone out!" No one, demon, human or otherwise, was killed, but the club was a total loss.

It was chalked up to sheer bad luck.

A few days after that, an almost identical occurrence: Thirty couples were swinging away to "Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen" when a fire broke out. Sadly, this time things weren't as lucky, and two vampires were turned into ashes and one suffered severe burns when somehow one of the fire trucks was discovered to be shooting out holy water.

Also gone in this fire were all the swing CDs in the building. Tom had thought he'd brought them out, but they apparently leapt back into the fire when no one was looking.

Even worse, Tom suddenly couldn't keep his hands of Willow - almost like a love spell had been cast on him, or something. Everyone immediately blamed Amy Madison, and a burning at the stake was scheduled for the following week.

Also, every CD store in town was cleaned out of its swing section, the Squirrel Nut Zippers and Big Bad Voodoo Daddies were somehow convinced to become bluegrass acts, and perhaps worst of all, the only sheet music left in the entirety of Sunnydale detailed how to play the Macarena.

Things came to a head one night at the last remaining swing parlor,repeatedly playing "In the Mood" because that was the only swing tune the Sunnydale High School Marching Band knew. Someone had been telling the vampires that all this swing club stuff was actually a plot by the Slayer and her friends - lull the vampires into a false sense of security and then wipe them out. If it hadn't been for the mysterious demon wearing black -

The humans countered angrily that it had in fact all been a demon-cast spell - crispy-fry all of them in pursuit of a mass sacrifice to some depraved vampire overlord. If it hadn't been for that brooding hunk dressed all in black -

"Hold it, hold it!" Buffy said. "Mysterious, broody hunk wearing black?" Nods all around. "ANGEL!!!!!"

A muffled "uh-oh" could be heard emanating from near the door; Angel was standing there carrying a gas can and a pack of matches.

Everyone in the room charged towards him at once.

Angel, quite wisely, ran for his life.

* * * * *

The exhausted vampire, beaten to within an inch of his life by pretty much everyone in Sunnydale - including, to his everlasting horror, Principal Snyder - crept once again down to the docks, this time really intending to leave town for good.

A dark-haired woman with a sardonic smile stood there. "Blew it, didn't you?" she asked.

Not knowing why he was answering, Angel told her, "Yes."

"Screwed around with people's lives, broke the heart of the woman you loved . . ."

"Pretty much covers it." Then he added, "Who are you anyway?"

"A typical girl, just doing her job, and deciding to go about it a little differently this time."

Not really understanding, Angel looked around at the docks. "Damn this place," he said. "And damn me for getting out of here. If only I'd stayed in town -"

"If only?" the young woman asked. "So, what? You wish something hadn't happened?" She turned her back on him for a minute.

"Yes," Angel said bitterly. "I wish I'd never left this damn town."

And as she turned around, fingering her necklace, Anya said "Done."

And so . . . Angel didn't leave Sunnydale. And so Spike and Drusilla survived, Angel became Angelus and murdered Jenny Calendar, Buffy had to send the man she loved to hell and also never found her one true love in Tom the frat guy, and saddest of all, the people and vampires of Sunnydale never discovered the unspeakable ecstasy that is swing dancing.

And now you know . . . the rest of the story.

This is Paul Harvey - good day!

Questions, Comments, Feedback to Mediancat or Robyn TSH